


except you, you can stay

by froogy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, Crying, Fluff, This is just nice, soft, techno and tubbo share so many similarities, techno has a soft spot for tubbo, techno literally doesn't sleep, tubbo grows up and it's sad, tubbo has bad dreams, young tubbo and young-ish technoblade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28748160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froogy/pseuds/froogy
Summary: [ dsmp , sbi fd au !! ]["do not enter is written on the doorway, why can't everyone just go away? except you, you can stay."]technoblade has a soft spot for tubbo, and it's always been that way.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 84





	except you, you can stay

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place several years before l'manberg even existed, when phil, tommy, techno, wilbur, and tubbo all lived in a house on the mountains. 
> 
> just something nice because i am sad and in pain

Tubbo is five years old.

The room is still.

Across the room, Tommy’s chest rises and falls as he breathes, deeply asleep. Tubbo swallows hard, fighting to keep his breath steady. The sheets tangle around his knees as he pushes them off, hands shaky and stiff. Letting out a tense breath, he twists his fingers into his hair and pulls gently, looking up at the skylight above him.

It’s that dream again. He doesn’t even understand what it means, only that he hates it. Every time he has it, he feels like he’s suffocating. It starts out with just pure black all around him, nothing but shadow and a darkness so deep it’s the exact opposite of _something._ It's just _nothing_. Slowly, so slowly, the darkness begins to speak, whisper into Tubbo’s ear in languages he doesn’t understand. It presses in on him, wraps around his body, threads through his fingers and finds its way into his mind. It happens so slowly that he doesn’t notice it until he’s entirely surrounded, and he feels so trapped yet so empty at the same time.

Through the glass above, the stars twinkle at him, slowly making the breaths come easier and easier. Sliding his legs free of the blue-striped blanket, Tubbo finds his way to the floor and tiptoes to the door, taking slow, deliberate steps and checking over his shoulder to sneak glances at Tommy every few seconds. The door closes behind him with a small click, and his shoulders release some of the tension that’s been drawing them tight. Padding down the hallway, he runs his finger along the yellow wallpaper, tracing the faint scratch that Tommy had left a week ago with his makeshift sword. His face relaxes into a small smile at the memory of Phil’s outrage when he found the marks on the wall, and he suppresses a giggle, remembering how he’d covered for Tommy.

The house is quiet. The hallway is cast in a soft blue shadow from the skylights up above, and at the foot of the stairs, the dancing light of a candle glows warmly. Tubbo makes his way down the stairs, carefully treading on the edges of the steps to avoid the creaky center. He’s been down this very same path almost every single night. Turning into the dark kitchen, his feet meet cold tile, and he winces slightly. Tubbo's cup rests on the counter next to the pitcher of water. He's always used that cup, the one that Phil made for him. It's hand carved, rough in some places, and Tubbo runs his fingers across the rough patches as he drinks from it. The cool water trickles down his throat and settles in his stomach, clearing his mind. Letting out a heavy breath, Tubbo leans his hands on the counter and rises onto his toes, staring out the window into the whiteness of the snowy mountains. The moon makes the snow turn an icy shade of pale blue, and it almost seems to glow, the ground giving off a ghostly, ethereal light. The skies are clear.

 _It isn't going to snow tomorrow._ Tubbo sighs, setting his cup back on the counter and settling back onto his heels. Giving himself a little shake, he turns and heads out of the kitchen, the squeaky door swinging slowly closed behind him. Warm light from the edge of his peripheral catches his eye, and he pauses on the first stair. 

_The library._ Tubbo twists slightly, turning to look at the heavy oaken doors, open just enough to let the light from the fireplace spill into the room. _Technoblade._

For as long as he can remember, Tubbo has always seen Techno in the library, no matter the time of day. The red velvet chairs, sometimes adorned with the royal cloak that Techno likes to wear, the fireplace always lit in the fall and winter. If he passed by the library in the middle of the day, on his way outside to cause chaos with Tommy, he could hear the faint rustle of pages or the clink of empty ink bottles as Techno cleared off his desk. No one else really used the library, and no one really knows how all the books got there in the first place, but it is wholly Technoblade's domain. Tubbo's seen Techno in the library every night for the past three years, in a routine that neither of them are really aware of. Libraries had never really interested Tubbo. Books couldn't keep his attention for very long. 

Tubbo slides off the bottom step and silently makes his way across the carpeted floor, avoiding the beam of light the open door sends cascading across the floor. His hands come to rest on the decorative wood borders around the doors, tracing the flowery carvings. He makes out the figure of Techno, seated in his usual seat by the fireplace. As usual, his quill and book are in his hands, and he looks to be deep in work. Tubbo draws his head back from the picture that has become so familiar to him over the past few years, and he turns back towards the stairs, his breath now coming easy. 

Technoblade coughs. “I know you’re there. Just come out.” Tubbo stops in his tracks, his heart beginning to jump nervously inside his chest.

 _Maybe if I'm quiet, he'll go away._ The book closes with a gentle snap, and the quill is set back into the ink bottle, the tapered end clinking against the rim.

"Tubbo, there's no use hiding. I know you're there." Techno's monotone voice is quieter than usual as not to wake anyone up. Tubbo’s face burns a bright red, and he sheepishly pokes his head around the doorframe, dark eyes looking anywhere but at Techno.

“Uh- I’m so sorry, I’ll just- I’ll just go, I didn’t mean to disturb you-” Their eyes meet, Techno’s eyes scrutinizing Tubbo, and the boy feels like every inch of his mind, every thought has just been laid bare. Techno shakes his head, then tilts it in an invitation. Tubbo slips into the room, keeping his back on the wall, and awkwardly maneuvers to the red velvet armchair that Techno casts a meaningful look at. He sinks into the seat, tucking his knees up to his chest, and Techno looks back down at his books.

Tubbo follows his gaze down to the fine lines of print on the weathered pages, along with trails of black scribbling in the margins that are left by Techno’s quill. Tubbo smiles inwardly to himself. Techno always insisted on using that quill of his, and he and Phil had gotten into small arguments about it.

_"Why can't you just use pens, Techno? Quills are so hard to make, especially when you insist on it being the highest quality possible."_

_"You don't understand, Phil, I need it to fulfill my aesthetic. And also, the feeling of pen on paper makes me want to crawl out of my skin."_

_"Wh- how is it different?!"_

But every month without fail, Phil would return from his trip to the neighboring villages with a set of three quills, made out of eagle feathers and encased in a blue velvet bag stamped with the antler insignia that appeared on all the high quality stationery that Techno used. Tubbo's eyes go to the quill by Techno's hand, resting in the inkwell. The feather looks a bit battered, the tip of it splitting off into different directions. 

_Phil's due for another trip soon._

The room is silent, painfully quiet, and the two of them sit there, the few feet between them stretching over miles as they both stare at the ground in front of them. Tubbo fights down a cough, then suddenly has the urge to giggle. He swallows, then shifts in his seat to sit on his hands, fiddling with the hem of the grey shorts he wears. Across from him, he hears Techno shift as well. Still refusing to make eye contact, Tubbo glances at Techno's hands, resting atop the red book in his lap. He's fidgeting with the loose threads on the binding, tugging on them in a nervous, repetitive motion. 

Tubbo's debating whether he should just get up and go back to his room, safe and cozy with Tommy sleeping next to him, just escape and deal with the awkwardness in the morning, when Techno stifles a yawn. Tubbo looks up, meeting eyes that are a lot kinder than they usually seem. Maybe it's the firelight, maybe it's the sleep deprivation messing with Tubbo's head, but Techno seems _softer_. 

"So. Uh, you don't sleep well either, Tubbo? You come down here a lot." Techno's voice is measured and careful, but there's a tinge of tiredness surrounding it that keeps it from feeling distant. 

"Y-yeah. I- I have bad dreams sometimes." Tubbo's voice stutters and he clears his throat, eyes focused on Technoblade's unreadable face. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you-" Techno waves a hand dismissively, and Tubbo trails off. 

"Don't worry about it, kid." Reaching over the side of his armchair, Techno summons up a red mug out of nowhere, and hands it to Tubbo, nodding for him to take it. Tubbo looks past him and notices the pitcher on his desk, steaming slightly. "Careful, it's hot." Techno's hand shakes slightly as he tips the pitcher, pouring hot chocolate into Tubbo's mug. Small droplets splash out, landing on Tubbo's hand and making him wince as they burn him then cool in an instant.

"Sorry." Techno hurriedly sets the pot down and produces a wrinkled white handkerchief from his pocket, hastily swiping it over Tubbo's hand, leaving small tan stains on the white fabric. 

"It's okay." Tubbo sips carefully from the mug, wincing as the hot chocolate burns his tongue. "Ow." 

Techno chuckles, a low rumble in his throat, and Tubbo looks up at him, surprised. "Be careful, Tubbo. You're just like the rest of them, always impatient." Techno smiles, his fangs protruding from his mouth. Tubbo returns his smile, and sips from the cup again, slower this time. 

"Well, just make yourself comfortable I guess." Techno shifts in his seat, picking up his quill and book again. "You're welcome to any of the books here, just be careful." With that, Techno grows quiet and turns his attention to his book, making it clear that he's not much for small talk. Tubbo's grateful for this, he doesn't quite know what to say to Techno. He's always been sort of intimidating, standoffish. Tubbo's always seen him in the library, doing who-knows-what. 

So Tubbo slips off the chair, moving to the nearest bookshelf and craning his neck to look all the way up. The spines of the books are multicolored, reds, blues, greens, gilded with pretty bindings, or almost falling apart. Tubbo looks back down to his eye level, and picks the first book that catches his eye, a red book with gold inlaid in its binding. Returning to his chair, he opens the book and settles it on his lap, opening it to a random page. Tubbo was never huge on reading, he preferred to be outside. But the library was soft and quiet, and Techno was focused on his work, barely looking up, so Tubbo pretended to flip pages as he watched Technoblade work. 

The crackle of the fire and the soft feathery sound of the pages turning were like a lullaby to Tubbo, and he began to feel sleepy. The warm hot chocolate held in his hand, his head droops and lolls back onto the armchair. Techno looks up at the soft sound, and he quickly moves to take the mug from Tubbo before it can spill on the floor. 

Techno smiles despite himself, looking down at the small boy in the red armchair. Tubbo's hair is messy, falling into his eyes, and the blue shirt he's wearing is too big for him, the sleeves falling past his fingers. Techno takes the red book from Tubbo's grasp, his hand easily falling away as Techno tugs it back and sets it on the table next to the chair, and he sets the mug beside it. "C'mon, bud. Let's get you back to bed." 

Tubbo is small, and easily scooped up by Techno as he gently lifts him up, Tubbo nestling his head into Techno's shoulder. Techno tenses for a moment, then smiles as he maneuvers out of the library, tapping the door closed behind him with his foot. Tubbo's warm breath curls down Techno's neck, making him shiver, and he walks up the stairs slower than he usually would, as not to wake the sleeping boy in his arms. The hallway is painted with blue from the skylights, and the moon shines through the window at the end of the corridor, illuminating the tall figure moving slowly down the wooden planks. 

The door to Tommy and Tubbo's shared room creaks as it opens, and Techno grimaces as he feels Tubbo stir on his shoulder. _Should get that fixed. Ask Phil later._ Carefully moving through the room, he stoops and sets Tubbo down on his bed, glancing over at Tommy. Tommy is still fast asleep, the light from the candle on the night table casting a warm glow over the blonde boy. Tubbo sinks into bed, curling onto his side to face Tommy, and his breathing grows steady. Techno backs out of the room slowly, his arms feeling oddly empty and his shoulder feeling cold. Wordlessly, he returns to the library and picks up his quill again. The half- finished mug of hot chocolate sitting atop the red book on the table catches his eye, and he looks at them for a moment, a gentle smile playing on his lips. Then he shakes his head. _I must be tired._ Closing the book in his lap and dropping his quill into the inkwell, he blows out the candle on his desk and leaves the library for the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is just something i thought of becos the "stoic character A has a soft spot for ray of sunshine character B" is just :]


End file.
